#joz.fics

“I told you I would stay,” you murmured simply, feeling Caracalla’s pale eyes searching your face.  Satisfied by whatever he saw, he nestled closer to your side, resting his cheek against your breast and draping his arm around your middle before shutting his eyes once more.

Without thinking, you began to run your fingers through his hair, stroking it gently, surprised to find the action as soothing for you as it was for him.  Against you, Caracalla sighed, and you let your own eyes slip shut as well, clinging to this drowsy sense of comfort as long as you could.  Perhaps it was merely the exhaustion of the day before, or the luxury of such a soft bed instead of a hard cot, but you’d slept more soundly than you had in a very long time.  And though you knew it wasn’t only due to those reasons, you weren’t yet ready to attribute some of it to the man resting in your arms.

Unsure what the day was to bring and not willing to risk souring Caracalla’s mood by asking questions, you were content to lie there until he was ready to wake and give you some hint as to what you were to do with your time.  Unfortunately, a knock at the door sent Caracalla groaning, dashing your hopes for a peaceful morning.

“Go away!” he cried, tensing next to you.

“My apologies, Emperor Caracalla, but I’ve been sent by Emperor Geta to assure you are awakened and to fetch your, er, companion,” the Praetorian at the door explained, his expression wary.

Caracalla’s arm tightened around you possessively and alarm bells sounded in your ears.

“Tell my brother I have awakened, but he cannot have her!” he huffed and you could see the panic on the guard’s face as he hesitated in the doorway, unsure how to respond—either way upsetting one emperor or the other.

“I— I’m afraid I—“

“Caracalla,” you murmured, your voice soft yet firm, drawing his eyes.  “I assure you, you will see me soon.  All will be well,” you promised.  It seemed that despite being in the palace for barely a day, you had already managed to enthrall him, and from how tightly he was holding you to his chest, you doubted he would let you stray from his sight for long.

Though he looked doubtful, he didn’t argue further, reluctantly releasing you, and you offered him a reassuring smile before slipping out of his bed to dress, feeling his eyes hot on you, tracking your every movement.

When you met the guard at the door, he offered you a thankful nod and you fell into step with him, wondering what Geta might want with you so early in the morning, but knowing better than to ask your silent escort.

Geta’s chambers weren’t far from Caracalla’s and as you stopped in front of the door, the Praetorian ushered you inside, but didn’t follow, instead taking up sentry outside.  The finality with which the door shut behind you made your stomach twist, but you took a steadying breath and walked further inside.

Geta’s sheets were thrown back and his bed was empty, Quintilla nowhere to be found, leaving you to wonder if he hadn’t actually kept her by his side all night, as Caracalla had you, or if she had merely left before he sent for you.  Though if that were the case, why had he summoned you at all?

The sound of your name broke you from your thoughts and Geta appeared, stepping out from behind the large standing screen in the corner of the room near his wardrobe, freshly dressed in his fine robes, though his heavy jewelry was oddly absent.  

“There you are,” he said and you carefully kept your eyes down turned.   “Did my brother send for you last night?” he asked, the question surprising you, as he obviously already knew the answer.

“He did,” you answered carefully, and though he didn’t respond, you noticed the way his expression tightened.  From anger or jealousy, however, you could not say.

For a moment he merely watched you, his gaze heavy, weighing.  “You shall attend to me today,” he finally said, beckoning you to come closer.

Unsure exactly what he meant, you bowed your head and approached.

“Adorn me with my jewels,” he commanded, gesturing to the ornate box on the table next to him.  

Running your hands over the smooth wood, you opened the lid and lifted first a thick golden chain from its silk-lined compartment, marveling at how heavy it was in your hands.  Hesitating only a moment, you raised the necklace, carefully draping it around his neck before turning back to the jewelry box and selecting one of the broad golden bands nestled inside.  Geta held out his arm and you slipped the cuff up to his bicep until it stayed put, fitting his arm perfectly, your fingers skimming over his warm skin, and you repeated the process with his other arm.

“Do you ever grow weary from wearing such heavy baubles?” you asked, the words slipping from your mouth without thought as you slid his bulky rings on–one for each finger.

His dark eyes flashed and you silently cursed your loose tongue, bracing for a punishment.

“Occasionally,” Geta answered and you blinked at him in surprise— “but the weight is a reminder of my–our station,” he explained, admiring the rings adorning his fingers.  “Perception is everything.  When you are powerful, you must look the part.”

He lifted his laurel crown from the box and handed it to you.

“I suppose there is truth in that,” you murmured, placing the crown atop his fiery curls.  As you lowered your arms, Geta caught your wrist, holding you in place.

“That reminds me, I have something for you,” he said, snapping his fingers and one of the servants pressed to the wall nearby scurried over, carrying a cloth wrapped parcel.  He slowly unwrapped it, and at first all you could glimpse was a flash of gold, until Geta lifted it from the boy’s arms and finally held it before you—a loose golden collar.  You’d seen a few of the other concubines wearing similar pieces, but theirs were simpler, bearing only sparse engravings, while this one was decorated with jewels and a raised relief in the shape of the sun, its rays reaching outward.

As he lifted it to place around your neck, you knew it for what it was–jeweled or not–a symbol of your ownership.

“Are you not going to thank me for such a fine gift?” he asked, a hint of danger in his voice and you ducked your head in a small bow, though you wanted to rip the collar from your neck.

“Thank you, my emperor,” you murmured, your voice tight.

Your reaction seemed to amuse Geta and he flashed a wolfish smile, catching your jaw with his hand to tilt your head this way and that, admiring you.  “I have some work to attend to, come,” he instructed, turning away to take a seat at his parchment strewn desk.

“And what exactly do you wish me to do while you work?” you asked, just barely keeping your tone in check.

Geta tugged you down next to him atop his cushioned curule.  “Keep me company, lavish me with attention.  Perhaps you could work some of the tension from my shoulders with your hands,” he drawled, his dark eyes flicking to yours as his grin turned smug, “seeing as the weight of my accessories concerns you so.”

You waited till he turned to his desk to allow a scowl to twist your lips.  Smoothing your hands over his gold embroidered tunic, you began massaging his shoulders, digging your thumbs into his muscles as hard as you dare, deriving some small pleasure at the way he winced, his jaw flexing in pain, but he didn’t chastise you, instead ignoring you to focus on his reports.

Unable to evoke a reaction or to keep up that amount of pressure for long without tiring your hands, you eased up, reluctantly settling into a more comfortable rhythm.  When your fingers came across a tight knot of muscle near the base of his neck, however, you frowned, surprised to find any shred of evidence of stress upon his body.

When you pressed against the tender spot, you felt Geta tense, hissing a sharp breath as he paused in his work, his reed pen stilling, but as you began to rub measured circles over the muscle, thoroughly working it with just the right amount of pressure, he moaned, the sound igniting something in you.

As you continued to massage him, your hands moving down his back, he let out the occasional grunt or soft groan, but you ached to hear that particular sound again and returned to his lower neck, prodding and soothing with practiced fingers in an attempt to draw forth another such moan.

As if aware that was your goal, Geta reached up to still your hand, pulling you forward to press against his back as he guided your hand beneath the collar of his tunic to his chest, draping you over him like a trophy.  Caressing his smooth chest—so much different from Caracalla’s—you breathed in his scent and let your eyes travel over the parchment laid out in front of him.

Taking advantage of the fact that Geta was unaware you could read, you skimmed the reports before you—military plans, senate motions, and financial data—and tucking away tidbits that might be of interest to Macrinus that you could pass along to him when next you met.

Unsure how much time had elapsed since you’d joined Geta that morning, you were beginning to feel the pang of hunger when the door opened, admitting none other than Geta’s twin.  When Caracalla’s eyes fell on you, his expression brightened for a split second before twisting with jealousy at the sight of you draped against his brother.

“I’ve grown bored,” he announced, striding across the room to flop down atop a lectus nearby, his eyes never leaving you.

“Prandium should be served soon,” Geta replied, straightening and setting down his pen, and you took the opportunity to slip from the curule, discreetly stretching your muscles.

“Good, I am famished!” Caracalla exclaimed, a grin spreading across his face as he leaned forward to grab your hand and pull you down next to him.

His gaze fell to the gilded collar around your neck, seeming to finally notice it and his lips turned down.  “Where did you get this?” he asked, plucking at the heavy piece of jewelry and you had only to glance toward his brother as answer.

Caracalla’s frown deepened and he let out a huff.  “I wish to give you something as well,” he grumbled, seeming to draw in on himself.  Unconsciously he began scratching at his cheek, picking at his acne scars as if out of habit—a nervous tic he didn’t even realize he was doing.  When his nails came away bloodied, you took his hand, gently pulling it from his face with a small shake of your head before pressing a kiss to the back of his hand.

Caracalla looked abashed and you glanced to one of the servants stationed by the door, motioning for them to bring some water and a cloth.  As you cleaned his fingers and wiped the blood from his cheek, you could feel Geta’s eyes on you, but you refused to turn toward him, instead keeping your focus firmly on Caracalla.

When several servants bearing trays of fruits and honeyed cakes arrived, your stomach grumbled loudly, reminding you just how hungry you were.  As the food was laid out before you and glasses of spiced wine poured, Geta joined you and Caracalla, bringing his wine glass to his lips as he lounged back against the cushions, his thigh resting against yours.

Selecting a small bunch of sweet red grapes from the tray, you pulled one free from its stem, but before you could bring the plump fruit to your lips, Geta caught your wrist and ate it from your fingers, a smirk twisting his expression as he chewed.

“Another,” he commanded, flashing you a pointed look and you clenched your teeth, forcing yourself not to huff an annoyed sigh before feeding him another grape.

At your side, Caracalla sulked, upset at having to share your attention.  

Sipping once more at his wine, Geta draped his arm over the cushion behind you, his fingers skimming over your bare shoulder and sending a shiver racing down your spine.  Before he could demand more food, however, Caracalla pressed a piece of honey cake against your lips, eager to feed you.

When you opened your mouth for a bite, his fingers brushed your tongue.  As he watched you chew, he brought them to his own mouth, sucking clean the sticky residue and your saliva. 

“Does it taste good?” he asked expectantly and you hummed in response, licking your lips.

“Very good,” you confirmed, your stomach fluttering as he beamed in response.

Picking up a piece, you fed Caracalla in return before turning back to Geta to offer him some as well and he blinked at you in surprise, momentarily taken aback that you had actually offered him something unprompted.

The rest of the morning passed similarly, and by the afternoon, even though their appetites hadn’t been sexual, splitting your attention between both emperors had left you weary.  You found yourself relieved to see their other concubines were to join you for their audience with several of the senators.

Once more seated between Caracalla and Geta, you shared a smile with Quintilla as she took her spot on Geta’s other side, perching atop the lectus’ arm and lounging against him.  The others contented themselves with sitting in the back, but Cicero—one of Caracalla’s other favorites—flashed you a hard look before lowering himself to the floor by Caracalla’s feet, wearing a collar similar to yours against his bare chest.

Caracalla barely spared him a glance before leaning in to whisper something in your ear about one of the senators, grinning as he nipped playfully at your earlobe before lounging back, but keeping a jeweled hand on your thigh. 

Trying to avoid Cicero’s scathing stare, you let your gaze travel the cavernous room, taking note of the dignitaries and other guests gathered.  When you spotted Macrinus’ dark skin amongst the white togas, you sat up straighter and he met your eye.

“Caracalla, can I get you some fresh wine?” you asked, searching for an excuse to slip away for a moment.  

Dondus scampered across his master’s shoulders and Caracalla reached up to stroke his fur.  “Yes, I am quite parched,” he decided.  “And bring some fruit for Dondus,” he added, though when you stood he grabbed your wrist, halting you.  “Do not be gone long.”

“I will be just over there,” you assured him, pointing toward the table laden with refreshments, easily within view.  Caracalla nodded, releasing you, and you ambled toward the table, careful not to appear too hurried.  

Taking a silver platter from a small stack, you looked over the decadent dishes piled high before selecting some treats for Dondus, feeling Macrinus’ presence before you saw him.

“One perk of living in the palace, better food,” he joked as he joined you at the table, taking a platter for himself and popping a date into his mouth.  When you didn’t respond, he dropped the pretense and got to business.  “What have you learned?”

You slowly edged your way down the table, adding more food to your plate.  “The conquest of Numidia has been a success, and our troops should be returning any day now.  However, these new colonies are putting undue strain on Rome’s resources and it seems public sentiment of the Empire is hanging by a thread,” you murmured, stealing a glance at his face to gauge his reaction, though his expression gave nothing away.

“Is that all?”

“There is one more thing…”  Your eyes flicked to the lectus where the emperors sat, finding both their eyes on you.  “There is a tension between the emperors, a rivalry—”  You quickly cut off as both emperors approached.

“Macrinus,” Geta intoned, and the master of gladiators ducked his head in a bow.

“Your majesties,” he replied, flashing them his most ingratiating grin.

“Have you come to visit our toy?  I hope you do not mean to take her back!” Caracalla exclaimed, his blue eyes flashing.

If his insinuation ruffled Macrinus, he did not show it.  “Of course not, Caracalla,” he replied, opening his arms wide.  “I merely saw her at the table and was curious to see if she has been pleasing to you.”

Geta’s eyes strayed to you before returning to Macrinus.  “We are pleased.  We are pleased,” he responded as Caracalla interjected.

“She is perfect!” he insisted, beaming at you, though his expression darkened as it returned to Macrinus.  “But why did you not bring us two?” he demanded, and Dondus grasped uneasily at his hair, sensing his master’s rising temper.

“Two, my emperor?” Macrinus echoed in confusion.

“Yes!  One for me and one for Geta!”

Geta’s jaw flexed.  “Forgive my brother’s outburst, he finds sharing her to be… onerous.  He forgets we have many toys,” he said pointedly, but Caracalla only doubled down, his voice raising.  

“Yes, but she is unlike the others!”

At that, you winced, silently cursing Caracalla and his big mouth.  That would certainly pique Macrinus’ interest, and if he could use it to his advantage, he surely would.  You could practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes and wondered just how much more tightly wound in his web you’d just become.

Thinking quickly, you picked a date from your platter and offered it to Dondus.  The monkey chittered and jumped from Caracalla’s shoulder to yours to snatch the fruit from your fingers, eating happily as you stroked his fur and straightened his little blue and white tunic.  Just as you’d hoped, Caracalla’s attention was successfully diverted, but you didn’t like the calculating way Macrinus watched you.

“See, Dondus likes her too,” Caracalla murmured, and ignoring the others, wrapped an arm around you to pull you back to your seat. 

Looking back over your shoulder, you watched uneasily as Macrinus said something to Geta you couldn’t make out.

Later that night after cena, which had drawn on for several hours, you were finally allowed to return to your quarters for a bath and some rest.

“Two days in the palace and you’ve already twisted the Caesars around your finger,  hmm?” one of the men tittered as he sat down on the cot across from yours, twisting his long dark locks around his slender finger.  With his gold and white make up wiped off, he looked strangely bare.

“I do not know about that…” you murmured.

“Oh, but it is quite obvious,” another woman agreed, running a brush through her curls.  “Everyone can see how taken with you they are.”

“Not that we are complaining,” Quintilla added, grinning at you.  “It is nice to have a bit of respite,” she joked.

Across the room, Cicero snorted.  “They will soon tire of you.  You may be their shiny new bauble now, but you will dull,” he drawled, his leg dangling over the edge of his bed as he scowled at you.

“As you have?” Quintilla asked, arching an eyebrow at him before you could respond and several of the others laughed, silencing him further with their ridicule, but you could still feel his glower burning into the back of your head.

Not long after, you were unsurprised to be called to Geta’s chambers—assuming he would want to further deny his brother of your company.

Stepping through the heavy doors, you pressed your back to them as they shut firmly behind you.  “You called?”

Geta lounged atop his sprawling bed in a loose red and gold embroidered robe, his exposed skin pale in the moonlight.

“Come.”  

His voice echoed through the room and you obeyed, crossing the elaborate mosaic tiled floor toward him, his bed illuminated by the flickering light of several candles.  Stopping at the edge of the bed, you waited for his next command, holding your chin up under his heavy dark gaze.

“What did my brother do with you the other night?” 

Though his voice was firm, you could feel the underlying reluctance, as if the question revealed more than he wanted.

“I can show you,” you offered, lifting your skirt to climb astride him, settling in his lap like you did Caracalla.  Slipping your hands beneath his robe, you pushed it down his shoulders as your lips brushed his jaw, trailing open mouthed kisses down his neck as your hands dragged down his chest.

At first, he didn’t move, but when your teeth grazed his throat he tilted his head, and a heavy breath left his lips as you licked a broad stripe from his collar bone back up to his jaw. Pulling his earlobe between your lips to suck you felt Geta stir beneath you and his hands circled your waist to pull you closer, forcing you to grind against him.

“Do I please you?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it and he huffed a laugh.

“I told Macrinus as much, did I not?” he replied, bringing a hand to your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple, coaxing it to harden beneath your thin stola.

“Though… I have only had you once,” he added, his lips quirking sardonically.  “Caracalla thinks me greedy, but it is he who has savoured both your mouth and your cunt.”

“Is that what you want, my emperor?  My mouth?” you asked, taking his hand and wrapping your lips around his finger.  Slowly taking his digit into your mouth before hollowing your cheeks and sucking. Pulling it from your mouth with a wet pop, you held his gaze, watching his pupils dilate, darkening with want.

Pleased with his reaction, you pushed him back to his pillows, positioning yourself between his legs as you kissed your way down his chest, parting his robe further as you went, finally revealing his manhood, his erection twitching against his lower stomach, the tip angry and red.  Before you could help yourself, you sighed at the sight, quickly swallowing the sound as your lips brushed his navel, but you couldn’t ignore the heat licking up your thighs.

For all his control, you could hear Geta’s breaths quicken and feel the twitch of his muscles beneath your lips—his body betraying him with each touch, each slow open mouthed kiss, as you neared where he needed you most.

Hovering over his cock, you blew gently against his tip, watching as it throbbed, weeping precum.  For a moment, you hesitated, curious to see what Geta would do, if he’d become impatient and take what he wanted, or if he would wait, letting you draw out this torturous anticipation, unwilling, or perhaps unable to bring himself to beg.  

Deciding to grant him mercy, you finally pressed your lips to his cock  and the way he groaned sent a fresh wave of heat through you.  Pressing your thighs together against the ache that followed, you swirled your tongue around his head, flicking over his slit to taste his spend before wrapping your lips around him and taking him into your mouth.  When his cock hit the back of your throat, you stilled, moaning around him, and Geta swore under his breath, his hand threading in your hair, though he didn’t force your head—merely needing to tether himself to something, or perhaps needing to touch you, or both.

Wrapping a hand around the base of his cock, you began to bob your head, letting your lips and tongue glide over him, your hand working the length you couldn’t quite reach, careful to keep him from gagging you.  Letting your other hand slip from his thigh, you gave his balls an experimental squeeze and the moan that fell from his lips shot through you like a bolt of lightning.  When your eyes flicked up to his face, you found him watching you, his chest heaving as if he were barely holding on, and something like pride fluttered in your chest, though you carefully avoided examining it too closely.

Unable to hold his gaze any longer, your face burning, you tore your eyes away, squeezing them shut to focus when suddenly Geta’s grip on your hair tightened painfully.

“Stop–” he gasped, his voice hoarse, and he pulled your mouth from him before he could finish.

“Did I do something wrong?” you asked, flinching in surprise, shrinking back as much as you could with his hand still tangled in your hair.

“No,” he breathed, releasing you, and you swallowed.

“Then, why?”

“Because I need–” Geta cut off, his jaw flexing as if he’d nearly let too much slip.  “I wish to finish inside you,” he said, changing his words.

“Oh…” you breathed, taken aback, a fresh ache throbbing in your core.

Geta’s hands, as soft as his brother’s, made quick work of stripping your stola from you before rolling you to the bed and trapping you beneath him.  Squeezing his cock at the base, he guided his tip to your entrance, losing no time in pressing into you.

“So wet,” he groaned, his breath hitching as he pushed in deeper, catching your leg and hiking it up higher.  “You grew so aroused from merely sucking my cock?” he marveled, his hips snapping into you as he sheathed himself to the hilt.

Stilling to lean over you, his lips brushed the shell of your ear.  “You think to hide it, but you enjoy this,” he drawled and you bit down hard on your lip to stifle the moan that nearly clawed its way up your throat, but by the way your cunt tensed around him, Geta knew the truth.

Before you could even begin to formulate a lie, his hips snapped into you again, forcing a gasp from your lungs, and then he was moving in you, setting a dizzying pace until all you could do was lie there and take it as he drew moan after sinful moan from you.  Above you, Geta’s smug grin melted away and you watched, mesmerized, as his guard slipped for the first time since you’d met him.

Eyelids fluttering, his mouth fell open and his large brown eyes swam, lost in his pleasure and you couldn’t look away.

With each desperate thrust, his cock dragged against that spot inside you that turned your thoughts fuzzy, but you could tell at that pace he would certainly fall apart before you, and you desperately wanted to finish as well, briefly wondering how common that was for their other companions before the thought was pushed from your mind.

Before you could reach between you to touch yourself, in hopes of pushing yourself over the edge, Geta’s fingers beat you to it, and with a cry you came. 

Tensing beneath him, your nails bit into his back and Geta quickly followed you, pumping you full with each slowing rut.  Gasping for breath, your chest heaved against his and you were only vaguely aware of him dropping his forehead to your shoulder as he fought for his own breath.

For a moment you nearly wrapped him in your arms, instinctively seeking the feel of his body against yours when abruptly, he pulled away, rolling off you to clean himself.  At the sudden loss of his warmth, you trembled, though not from the chill air alone.  The stark difference in how Caracalla had treated you afterwards in comparison had you wishing you were instead in his bed, even if you knew that thought should unsettle you.

“Now we are even,” Geta muttered behind you and a flash of anger seared through you.  

For a brief moment you had thought that there was perhaps more to him, having caught a glimpse of vulnerability, but perhaps you were mistaken, and you suddenly wanted nothing more than to be as far away from him as you could.  The one thing that brought you a dark sense of satisfaction was knowing that there was one thing that Caracalla had had from you that Geta hadn’t.  Though you could argue that technically Caracalla had stolen his kiss, you had more than willingly reciprocated.

Standing to dress and take your leave, the sound of your name froze you in place.

“Where do you think you’re going?  I haven’t dismissed you.  You are to warm my bed tonight.”

Reluctantly, you lowered yourself back to the bed and pulled the covers around you, squeezing your eyes tight against the angry tears you felt welling.  Though Geta laid next to you, his back warm against yours, you had never felt colder.

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“Fret not, Geta shall join us soon,” Caracalla assured you, noticing the flicker of worry in your eyes as he pushed himself up to his knees.  He was dressed only in a green silk tunic, his elaborate robes and heavy jewelry nowhere to be found, though his copper locks were somewhat mussed and you pushed your fingers through them in an attempt to wrangle them, making him smile and lean into your touch like a cat.

“I have something for you,” he exclaimed, catching your hand and helping you up.  “A gift!” he clarified excitedly, and for a brief moment you were half afraid it might be Cicero’s head on a platter or something equally gruesome, even if he had promised you he wouldn’t have the man killed.

“What sort of gift?” you asked slowly, careful not to let your wariness seep into your voice.

“If I told you, it would ruin the surprise!” he giggled, pulling you to your feet impatiently, barely giving you time to don your sandals before leading you from Geta’s chambers.  

“Oh!  Close your eyes!” he instructed, taking hold of your hand to guide you.

Obeying him, you shut your eyes, and he took off at a quick pace, tugging you along, and you followed blindly, if a little unsteadily.  “Calla—“ you laughed, fighting the urge to open your eyes, if only so you wouldn’t trip over your own feet.

“No peeking!” he chastened, and you lost track of how many turns you’d made, leaving you completely lost.

Finally, you came to a stop and Caracalla let go of your hand, his sandals shuffling against the floor as he moved away from you.  “Alright, you may open your eyes!” he exclaimed and you let your eyelids flutter open slowly, finding yourself in the midst of the throne room, empty at the early hour, save for you and Caracalla, and a handful of guards posted around the cavernous room.  Searching for Caracalla, your eyes were instantly drawn to a tall structure in the corner, obscured by a large sheet of fabric and you frowned in confusion, barely registering the faint fluttering sounds coming from beneath the sheet.

“What is it?” you asked, looking to Caracalla expectantly.

Instead of answering, he grabbed the edge of the sheet and pulled it away with a flourish to reveal a large ornate metal birdcage, large enough for you to walk inside, and you gasped in surprise, your eyes lighting up as you watched the dozen doves inside flutter around the enclosure.

“This is… for me?” you murmured, tearing your eyes from the aviary to glance at Caracalla and he nodded eagerly, his lips pulling into a wide smile.

“I told you I wanted to give you something!”

Your eyes returned to the gilded cage, and though you were touched by the gesture, a thought sobered you and your smile faltered.  Though their home was beautiful, they were captive, never to see the sunlight outside these marbled halls—much like you—and a deep aching sadness settled like a weightin your chest.

Noticing the change in your expression, Caracalla frowned, moving closer to peer at your face.  “Are you not happy?  I thought you would be pleased.  You told me you missed watching the birds,” he pointed out, an indignant pout twisting his lips.

Pasting a smile to your face, you turned back to him, placing a hand on his arm.  “I adore this gift, Caracalla—“

“But—?” he demanded, hearing the unspoken hesitance in your voice.

“It saddens me some that the doves are kept in a cage inside, never to feel the sun on their wings,” you murmured reluctantly, hoping Caracalla wouldn’t take offense at your show of dismay in the face of his gift.

“But…” Caracalla’a pout deepened, his light coloured brows furrowing deeper.  “But the birds should be happy, they should be grateful!  They are safe!” he protested, unable to understand the issue.

Shaking your head, you let out a rueful sigh.  “It is true that safety is important, but they aren't free,” you whispered, your voice faint.  “Birds are supposed to be free.”

“But if they were free then they would fly away and that would defeat the entire purpose!” Caracalla argued, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

Feeling eyes on you, you noticed Geta watching from the doorway.  He turned to murmur something to one of the guards before stepping into the room to join you and his brother, admiring the aviary.

“Good morning,” he murmured, taking your hand to brush a soft kiss to your knuckles before turning his eyes on Caracalla.  “What a thoughtful gift, brother,” he said, offering him a soft smile. 

“I thought so!” Caracalla huffed, his pride still bruised by your words.

“I was thinking perhaps we might go for a walk through the imperial gardens, all three of us,” Geta suggested, offering you his arm expectantly, his large dark eyes entreating you.

“I would enjoy that,” you admitted, your heart giving a flutter as you took Geta’s arm before slipping your other arm around Caracalla’s, not wanting him to feel left out, and his lips pulled into a reluctant smile.

As you stepped out of the palace it was as if you were coming alive after weeks of slumber, your body and mind felt lighter, freer.  Turning your face toward the sky, your eyes slipped shut as you allowed yourself a moment to bask in the warmth of the midday sun, letting it seep into your skin, and you took a deep breath, relishing the sweetness of the fresh air.

In contrast, the twins squinted uncomfortably against the sun, unused to the brightness outside the palace walls.  In the golden light of day, their skin seemed even paler than usual, a physical reminder of how disparate they were from their subjects—from you—how sheltered they were, literally.

However, as you strolled the well tended paths, your sandals crunching softly atop the gravel walkway, you passed lush greenery and colourful swaths of flowers, interspersed with sparkling reflecting pools guarded by graceful marble statues, their pale forms gleaming in the sun, brighter even than the emperors’ skin.  

Slipping from their sides, you paused to brush your fingertips against the velvety petals of a large pink flower, a peaceful smile curving your lips, and the emperors would have had to be blind not to see how much you flourished in the sunlight.

Noticing you were nearing the center of the gardens, Geta cleared his throat, pulling your attention away from the flower and you turned back toward him and Caracalla, who looked slightly confused, glancing between you and his brother.

“I believe there is something ahead that will be of interest to you,” Geta said, a hint of a smirk on his full lips as he nodded toward where the path disappeared behind a tall line of hedgerows.  Your interest piqued, you approached the shaded entrance slowly, glancing back uncertainly at Geta and Caracalla for a moment before stepping inside.  Passing under a marble archway into the courtyard beyond, you let out a gasp at the sight before you, your eyes going wide with wonder.

Caracalla’s ornate birdcage had been miraculously moved from the throne room to the hidden inner garden and placed right at the center, encompassing a small tree for your birds to nest in with a decorative fountain at its base.  Inside, several of the doves perched at the fountain’s lip, cleaning their snowy feathers in the clear trickling water while others enjoyed the sunlight that filtered through the canopy above to paint the ground beneath in golden patches.  Behind you, even Caracalla gaped, the pair of you finally looking to Geta in bewilderment, a proud grin on his face. 

“Is this your doing?” Caracalla asked, a hint of awe in his voice, and Geta let out a chuckle.  

“I ordered it moved after overhearing your conversation earlier,” he admitted, his eyes meeting yours, sending a swell of affection through you, leaving your chest tight.  “I know it is not the same as complete freedom, but at least now they may enjoy the sun,” he murmured, a flicker of apprehension crossing his face as he waited for your response.

“Thank you, Geta, that was very thoughtful,” you murmured, touched by both men’s gifts.

Caracalla chewed his lip, lost in thought for a moment before nodding.  “Good thinking, brother,” he mumbled.  “This is a much better spot for it,” he admitted, sharing a hesitant smile with his twin.

Discreetly watching the two of them, you smiled to yourself, the ache in your chest spreading.  This was the first you’d seen them truly getting along since you’d come to the palace, and Geta’s words from the night before rang in your ears, the fear in his voice at the thought of losing his brother clear.  Ever since you’d been thrown into the mix, they had done nothing but fight, no doubt part of Macrinus’ plan, and guilt twisted your gut like a knife when you realized every piece of information you had passed to him could easily be used to further turn brother against brother.

Opening the door to the aviary, you carefully slipped inside and lowered yourself to the edge of the fountain, not wishing the emperors to witness your internal battle.  As you entered, several of the doves fluttered in alarm, still shaken from the excitement of their home being moved, but once it became clear you meant them no harm, they settled, their soft coos and the calming sound of running water soothing your guilt ridden nerves somewhat.

Slipping off your sandals, you dipped your bare feet into the clear cool water, slowly lifting a foot from the pool and watching the ripples spread, just like every decision you’d ever made, the ripples of your actions spreading further, altering everything they touched—like the lives of your emperors.  Though it was true you’d unintentionally sown discord between them, they had begun changing in other ways—perhaps insignificant at first glance, but the ripples of your influence were farther reaching than you’d initially thought.  Just as they were changing you, perhaps you too were changing them, for the better.

“Enjoying the gardens?” Geta asked, the aviary’s door once more opening, and you gave a small jump as he joined you, followed by Caracalla, who was unusually restrained.

“I am, very much,” you replied, patting the stone bench beside you.

“You know, perhaps we could allow you to come here whenever you wish,” Caracalla mumbled, sitting next to you while Geta took your other side.

“You would allow that?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly with hope as you gaped at each emperor in turn, and Geta shared a look with Caracalla over your head.

“I believe it could be arranged,” Geta chuckled.  “Though you will need to be accompanied by Praetorians,” he added.  “For your safety.”

“I don’t think I could thank you both enough,” you exclaimed, propping your hands behind you and leaning back as you lifted your face skyward, a ray of dappled light landing on your cheek.

“I can think of a few ways you could thank us,” Caracalla drawled, his hand resting against your knee as he leaned closer, his lips brushing your neck.

“We certainly would be unopposed to it,” Geta agreed, his lips finding yours and you sighed into his mouth.

“You two are truly insatiable,” you chuckled breathlessly.

“Is that so terrible?” Geta asked while Caracalla nipped at your earlobe.  

“You enjoy it,” he purred, giggling softly, his hand inching higher, greedily slipping beneath the hem of your tunica.

You hummed, shifting slightly atop the fountain’s edge.  “I do…” you admitted, your breath quickening as your skin prickled with arousal.  “Do you wish to know what else I enjoy?” you asked, your lips twitching mischievously at the impulsive thought that ran through your head. 

“What is that?” Caracalla asked.

Biting your lip, you jumped to your feet, landing in the shallow pool before quickly crouching and scooping water into your hands to splash at the pair of them before either could react.  Geta’s eyes went wide in surprise while Caracalla crowed a laugh, delighted by your game.

“You little minx!” Caracalla giggled, joining you in the water without hesitation and splashing you back.

Letting your laughter blend with his, you kicked a spray of water at him in return and several of the doves took flight, perching higher in the tree above to escape your antics.

“Geta, do not be such a spoilsport!  Join us!” Caracalla cried, directing a splash at his brother, the bottom hem of his tunic dipping into the fountain as he played gleefully.

“You do not have to be so serious all the time, Augustus,” you insisted, reaching out to tug at Geta’s arms, pulling him up and into the fountain.

“You are just as bad as my brother,” he muttered, though the edges of his lips curved into a smile, and he pulled you into his arms to spin you, uncaring of the water seeping into your clothes, soaking you both.  

Caracalla cheered and soon the three of you were laughing and splashing each other, playing in the fountain like a group of children.  Your stomach began to ache from laughing so hard, but it was a welcome change from the incessant guilt that had been gnawing at you.

Breathless from laughter, you finally slumped back to the edge of the fountain, completely soaked through, your hair plastered to your skin and your thin tunica clinging wetly to your body, hugging every curve.  Your chest heaved as you gasped for breath while your skin pebbled from the chill of the water.  Catching your breath, you finally noticed the emperors’ eyes on you, watching your every movement hotly.

Caracalla wet his lips, but it was Geta who made the first move, pulling you into his arms to kiss you with an urgency that made your knees weak.  Clutching at his arms to keep yourself upright, you kissed him back just as fervently, opening your mouth to him with a moan as white hot arousal seared through you.

“You are so enticing like this,” Caracalla whined, embracing you from behind, his chest pressing to your back as his arms wrapped around you, his hands cupping your breasts, teasing your hardened nipples through the soaked fabric clinging to you.

“How can we control ourselves when you look so appetizing, soaked to the skin and begging to be touched?” he groaned, rutting his hardened length against your ass as his lips brushed your shoulder and he let out a shuddering breath as you arched back, pressing into him.

“Gods—“ he whimpered, biting down on your shoulder.

With a cry, your lips broke from Geta’s with a wet sound and your body gave a jerk, pressing harder into Calla’s crotch.

“Desperate little thing, aren’t you?” Geta drawled, his lips quirking into a wicked grin as he pressed a thigh between your legs and watched your body react.

Unable to do much else but nod dumbly, you ground desperately against his taut thigh, moaning at the blessed friction against your throbbing cunt, the ache between your legs growing nigh unbearable.

“This is where you belong—pressed between us,” Geta breathed, tilting his head to kiss your neck, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock, fisting his length in time with the roll of your hips, while behind you, Caracalla panted in your ear, his breaths laced with whimpers and moans as his own climax neared.

“Oh Gods—!  Calla—Geta—!” you gasped as your pleasure crested and ran over.  Your movements slowed but did not stop and you shuddered as you came, dragging your puffy clit against Geta’s skin, made slick by your juices.

Caracalla’s breath was hot on your cheek as he whined, his body going taut as he pressed tight against you, his cock spasming against the curve of your ass.

“G-good boy—“ you managed to breathe, reaching back to caress his flushed cheek as the rest of your focus turned to Geta, whose breaths came out as grunts, his hand gliding desperately over his length.

“Cum for me, Geta,” you urged, peering up at him through your lashes, your eyes half lidded and heavy with contentment.

As if your words were divine command, his mouth fell open in a silent cry as his hips gave a stutter and his movements slowed, his cock twitching as he came in his hand.

“What a state we must appear,” you breathed, glad to collapse back to the lip of the fountain to catch your breath, the twins following suite, though Caracalla leaned heavily into your side.

“You forget, we are the emperors, and no one will question our state,” Geta said, arching a brow at you.  

You rolled your eyes skyward, though your lips curved fondly, while above you, three doves settled together upon a branch, cooing softly, as they nestled closer.

By the time you left the aviary, the three of you were still practically soaked through, though the sun managed to dry you somewhat during your walk back through the garden to the palace.

“I cannot remember the last time I had such fun!” Caracalla chuckled, his hand in yours swinging as you walked.  “At least not like that.”

“Yes, no wine was even involved,” Geta teased, holding your other hand, a carefree bounce to his step that wasn’t usually there.

“Well well, is this not a most unusual sight?”  Macrinus called as you approached the palace entrance where he stood waiting, flanked by two Praetorian guards, a hint of amusement in his rich voice.  

As soon as Geta realized you were not alone, his usual stoic mask slipped back into place and he tensed.

“Ah, Macrinus, you have caught us at… an inopportune moment,” he replied and you could sense the embarrassment running through him.

“We went for a stroll in the garden!  To visit our new aviary!” Caracalla exclaimed cheerfully, his gold tooth glinting in the sun.  

“And how did you get so wet, your Majesty?  I do not believe it rained,” Macrinus replied, holding his hands out as he glanced toward the sky, as if searching for rain clouds, his eyes dancing impishly.

Though Caracalla might not have caught it, you could tell Macrinus was mocking him and you frowned, your jaw flexing in annoyance.

“I fell into the fountain and the emperors were good enough to rescue me,” you interjected quickly, not wanting your frivolity to reflect poorly on them in front of one of their subjects, especially Macrinus.

“Ah, I see,” he murmured, folding his hands, though you knew he did not believe you for a second.  “That was indeed noble of them.”

“Macrinus, if you will excuse us a moment, my brother and I will return shortly,” Geta intoned, attempting to appear as composed as he could in his current state, water dripping from his tunic to pool at his feet, his fiery hair damp against his brow.

“Of course!” Macrinus exclaimed, bowing his head.  “I shall let you get changed.”  His dark eyes flicked to you and a shiver ran through you.  “While I await the emperors’ return, perhaps you could keep me company,” he murmured, addressing you by name.

“Yes, of course, why don’t you tell Macrinus about your gift, columbina?” Caracalla insisted proudly before scurrying after his brother to get changed, leaving you in the hall with Macrinus.

“And what gift would that be?” he asked, a knowing light in his dark eyes that made you uneasy.

“Caracalla gifted me an aviary full of doves, and Geta had it moved to the gardens,” you explained, your eyes flicking toward the way the emperors disappeared.

“You must have made quite the impression on the emperors for them to bestow such an extravagant gift upon you,” he murmured, his gray brows raising.

“I do not know about that,” you mumbled, your gaze falling uncomfortably to your feet.  You did not like the way Macrinus looked at you, as if contemplating how best to use your closeness with the emperors to his advantage.

“Hmm,” he hummed, letting out a soft chuckle, though his amusement didn’t quite reach his eyes.  “And do you have anything for me?” he asked, pitching his voice lower.

Though you knew the question was coming, it still made your stomach twist, bile rising to the back of your throat.  You couldn’t believe you were contemplating this, but something had changed in you and you couldn’t bring yourself to divulge anything you had learned in the past few days to Macrinus—not if it could be used to hurt Caracalla or Geta.

“I— I have heard talk of-of a potential alliance with a powerful family.  One that would solidify the emperors’… precarious position,” you murmured, working moisture back into your mouth, terrified that Macrinus would see through your lie, fear searing through your veins.

“Alliance?” Macrinus repeated faintly.  “What sort of an alliance?” he probed, frowning.

“A marriage,” you responded without a beat, though sweat gathered on your brow, your stomach twisting at the mere notion.

For a moment Macrinus peered at you uncertainly, his eyes narrowing before finally nodding.  “I see.  An arranged marriage for one or both of the emperors with a respected house to ingratiate themselves with the people,” he mused and you nodded, swallowing thickly.

“Thank you for keeping an old man company,” Macrinus exclaimed graciously, raising his voice to carry as he heard footsteps approaching, eyeing you up and down one last time before Geta and Caracalla returned, freshly dressed in their usual opulent grab.

“Yes, thank you, for keeping our guest entertained,” Geta added, nodding to you in dismissal, and you didn’t like the calculating look on Macrinus’ face before he turned away from you. “Why don’t you get cleaned up, columbina?  We shall see you soon,” Caracalla exclaimed, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek and you reluctantly obeyed—the entire trek back to your new quarters leaving you more uncertain than ever.

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“Sergei!  Come on–!” Dima called after him, but his brother merely threw a smirk over his shoulder as he headed for the bar.

Stopping in front of you, Sergei leaned nonchalantly against the bartop, the dark carved wood trimmed with gold, like the rest of the club’s opulent interior.

“Hey there,” he said, tapping the bar top with his fingers to get your attention.

“What can I get for you, Mr. Kravinoff?” you asked, setting aside the towel you’d been wiping the bar with.

“Sergei, please,” he insisted.  “Mr. Kravinoff is my father.”

You couldn’t help but share his amused grin, apologizing and addressing him instead as merely Sergei.  “What can I get you?” you repeated, your eyes flicking from the elder Kravinoff to the booth in the raised alcove where his younger brother sat.  “Another bottle of vodka to celebrate?”

Sergei didn’t miss your brief glance past him and his lips twitched.

“Actually, I was hoping to have a word,” he murmured, taking a seat at the bar.

“Oh?” you replied, arching a brow in surprise, half wondering if he was coming onto you.  

While he was certainly handsome, he wasn’t the one who held your attention.

“That alright?” he asked, an easy grin playing at his lips as he raised his hands innocently.

“I suppose,” you answered, setting a glass in front of him and pouring a shot of the clear liquor.

“Well, you know my name, but I don’t know yours,” he said, picking up the glass.  When you told him, he lifted the glass in salute and knocked it back, setting the empty glass back on the bar with a soft ‘thunk’.  

“You worked here long?” he asked, shaking his head when you lifted the bottle to pour another shot.

“A few months.”

“You like it?”

You shrugged, screwing the lid back onto the bottle.  “S’not bad.  Better than the other place I bartend at a couple nights a week,” you admitted and Sergei nodded in understanding.

“Make no mistake though, this place” —he paused to gesture at the vaulted room— “can be just as dangerous as the seedier places,” he said, giving you a pointed look.

“I know…” you murmured, your gaze flicking once more toward Dmitri, who seemed to be sulking in his booth.  “But the entertainment here is worlds better.”

You quickly tore your eyes away, only to land on Sergei’s knowing expression.

“Uh huh,” he mused, looking over his shoulder.  “Well, it was nice meeting you,” Sergei continued, offering you a nod as he took the bottle of vodka and got to his feet.  “Hopefully I’ll see you around.”

As you watched him return to the booth, a thought occurred to you.  

“I thought you said he only comes here once a year, for his brother’s birthday?” you asked the bouncer standing guard nearby.

“Yep.  Guess he’s hoping you’ll still be working here next year,” he chuckled in a heavy Russian accent, but you couldn’t help but feel like he’d been making inquiries on someone else’s behalf.

“Well, I was right–” Sergei announced as he collapsed back into the booth, setting the bottle on the table in front of Dmitri. “About what?” Dmitri asked dryly, immediately reaching for the bottle. “About her,” Sergei answered, snorting in amusement.  “She’s definitely interested in you.”  He stretched back to prop his hands behind his head, the leather seat creaking beneath him.

“Yeah, right,” Dmitri scoffed, pouring himself a drink.  “I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d asked for your number,” he muttered, bringing his glass to his lips and Sergei sobered, dropping his arms and leaning forward.  

“Why would I lie, baby brother?”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe out of some misguided attempt to bolster my self-esteem?” Dmitri sighed, his voice laden with sarcasm.

“Dima.”

The way Sergei said his brother’s name made him pause, pulling him from his haze of bitterness, and Dmitri met his gaze.

“I’m serious.  You deserve to go after what you want.”

After a moment, he finally deflated.  “I can’t exactly talk to her here though,” he sighed.  “It would get back to Papa within a day.”

Sergei snorted.  “What’re you gunna do if you start dating the girl?  You can’t exactly keep that a secret forever,” he pointed out, earning a sour look.

“Let’s not go putting the horse before the cart,” Dmitri replied in perfect mimicry of their father’s voice.

Sergei shook his head in fond exasperation.  “Well, if you do want to make a move, she told me she bartends at another club on her nights off.  Maybe you could find out where.”

Dmitri straightened at his brother’s suggestion and stole a glance at you across the room as he chewed his lip, a spark of fresh determination gripping him.

Finding out the name of the other bar you worked at turned out to be easier than Dmitri had thought, and on your next night off from his club, he set out downtown to scope out the place.  Sergei had been right about it being in a rougher part of the city than Dmitri was used to, but he wasn’t about to let that deter him.

When his towncar pulled up to the curb in front of the flashing neon sign pointing down a dark stairwell, he adjusted his tie and stepped out onto the damp sidewalk.  He murmured something to his driver before shutting the door and straightening his tailored suit jacket, eyeing the large bouncer guarding the entrance to the stairwell.

Lifting his chin high, he approached as if he had every right to be there, passing the small line next to the building and stopping in front of the bouncer.  The man eyed him up and down, an unreadable expression on his bluff face, but before he could open his mouth to tell Dmitri to get to the back of the line, a well-timed flash of cash quickly dissuaded him and he nodded, slipping the bribe into his jacket and stepping aside to let Dmitri pass, ignoring the protests of those still waiting as he descended the stairs to the door.

Inside, more neon lit up the dingy space, and Dmitri’s shoes stuck to the sticky floor as he moved further in.

There was a small raised stage with a worn piano and drum set at the far end of the room and music blared over some speakers that had seen better days.

Ripped and faded posters covered the walls, and the entire place had an air of shabbiness to it, though it was pretty full—several patrons sat at the bar and a large group danced in the center of the floor, grinding up on each other and swaying drunkenly to the music.

Scanning the bar, he found you quickly—smiling as you leaned in to take someone’s order—and his stomach gave a jealous flutter.  Before he realized what he was doing, he was already halfway across the room, weaving through the crowd with a singular determination.

There was a moment, as he approached, that your eyes met his and recognition flashed across your face.

Once the surprise at seeing him there faded, you quickly shooed away the other bartender to wait on him yourself, not noticing the sour look your coworker gave him.

“Dmitri?,” you exclaimed, your breath catching as he stopped in front of you.  He looked as debonair as always—his coiffed blonde hair slicked back, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and his tie loose around his neck to leave his top couple buttons undone, allowing a glimpse of the gold chain glinting against his chest hair.  

“What brings you here?” you asked, unable to keep the incredulity from leeching into your voice.  Reaching for a clean glass, you poured his usual drink.  “I’m a little surprised to see you,” you admitted.

Dmitri shrugged, taking a seat at the bar and accepting the drink you slid in front of him, though he didn’t bring it to his lips right away.  “Just wanted a change of scenery, that’s all,” he said, his gaze flitting away nervously, his feigned nonchalance not fooling you.

“Uh huh,” you breathed, a grin playing at your lips as you watched him.  “So, what do you think of the scenery?” you asked, resting your elbows on the bar.  “Honestly, I think it’s a bit of a downgrade from your place,” you teased.

Dmitri’s eyes returned to yours.  “I don’t know, I think the view is pretty spectacular right here,” he murmured, sending heat rushing to your face at the compliment.  Before you could tease him further, he hastily picked up his glass and took a sip, glad for the liquid courage. “Yeah, well–” you paused, glancing past him at the stage, hoping he wouldn’t see how flustered he’d made you.  “If it’s any consolation, the entertainment here really pales in comparison.” “That so?” he asked, following your gaze.  “That’s a shame.”

You hummed in agreement.  “You should get up there, show ‘em what you got,” you suggested, your eyes dancing playfully.  “You’re much better than any of the acts I’ve seen take that stage,” you insisted as Dmitri opened his mouth to protest.

“Please?”

It was the way you said it that made him relent, batting your eyelashes at him in that calculated way.  If he didn’t know better, he thought you might be doing it on purpose, playing him like a fiddle.

Dmitri took another drink, finishing off the clear liquor.  “Do you have any requests?” 

A pleased smile crossed your face that made him weak in the knees, and glad he was sitting.

“Know any Tom Waits?” you asked, interested to see if he could imitate Wait’s raspy vocals as well as the other musicians he’d mimicked.

Dmitri set his empty glass down and flashed you an enigmatic grin before pushing away from the bar to head up to the stage.

“You know that guy?” your coworker asked, crossing his arms as he came to stand next to you, watching Dmitri take a seat at the piano with an unimpressed look on his face.

“Uh yeah, sort of,” you answered, unable to tear your eyes from him.

“Where from?  I’ve never seen him around here, before.”

“My other job,” you murmured, grinning as the music over the sound system cut out and Dmitri played the opening notes to ‘New Coat of Paint’, winking at you as he began to sing, his voice seamlessly shifting to mimic Tom’s raspy croon.

“Let's put a new coat of paint, on this lonesome old town. Set 'em up, we'll be knockin' 'em down.”

“Oh, you mean that posh lounge?” he scoffed, looking between Dmitri and your awestruck expression, a scowl twisting his lips.

“You wear a dress, baby, I'll wear a tie. We'll laugh at that old bloodshot moon, in that burgundy sky.” Ignoring your coworker’s foul mood, you watched Dmitri sing, captivated as he poured himself into the performance, his fingers dancing across the keys as if he were truly in his element, a smile pulling at his lips.

When his eyes met yours over the piano, a wave of heat washed over you and you barely noticed your coworker skulk away to the other end of the bar.

“All our scribbled love dreams are lost or thrown away, here amidst the shuffle of an overflowin' day. Our love needs a transfusion let's shoot it full of wine. Fishin' for a good time starts with throwin' in your line.”

When the last notes finally faded, Dmitri softly thanked the room for the smattering of applause and returned to the bar, his face slightly flushed.

“Amazing, as always,” you exclaimed, pouring him another drink and he let out a rueful chuckle.

Tipping back the shot, he cleared his throat and let out a breath before biting his lip.  “Can I buy you a drink, uh, after your shift?” he asked, his cheeks growing redder under your gaze.

You glanced at the clock and nodded.  “Yeah, I’d like that.  I get off in about an hour.”

Across the bar, your coworker fumed.

While you finished up, Dmitri slipped out the side door to wait, leaning against the alley wall to check his phone.  When he heard the door open, he half pushed off the wall before looking up, assuming it was you, only to let out a rueful chuckle when he realized it was just your coworker.

“Oh, sorry, I’m just waiting for someone—” 

“You really think you have a chance with her, piano man?” your coworker scoffed, interrupting him.

Dmitri swallowed, eyeing the other man warily.  “I think I might, yeah,” he admitted, earning a bitter laugh in response.

“Look at you, who the fuck do you think you are?” he chuckled, gesturing to Dmitri.  

“I think you should watch how you speak to me.”

“Oh, and why’s that?”

“My father is Nikolai Kravinoff,” Dmitri said, standing a little straighter, though his heart was pounding in his ears.

For a moment your coworker hesitated, as if the name meant something to him, but then he let out a derisive huff.  “Never heard of him,” he sneered, pushing Dmitri roughly back against the wall, his hands curling around his lapels.

“You stay away from her, you hear me?  She’s mine, alright?  You think just cause you got money you can swoop in here and steal her away?”

Dmitri winced as the back of his head made contact with the brick wall behind him, but a wave of hot anger rushed up his throat.

“She doesn’t belong to anyone!” he exclaimed, holding the other man’s glare, though he tensed, just waiting for him to strike.  “Don’t talk about her like that!”

“HEY!”

The door slammed open and both men’s heads snapped toward you, cold fury warping your face.

“What the hell are you doing?” you demanded, glaring at your coworker.

“Nothing–” he spluttered.  “Just telling this creep off.” “Get your hands off him.”

Your coworker’s jaw tensed and you reached in your pocket, wrapping your hand around the knife you kept for protection, but a moment later he reluctantly released Dmitri’s coat and held his hands up.

“I was just trying to look out for you, babe–”

“Bullshit,” you hissed, stepping between him and Dmitri.  “I know what you were doing,” you whispered, your voice sharp as you held his gaze.  “Now piss off before I have to hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t–” he chuckled, though his voice held a note of uncertainty.

“Try me.”

You pulled the knife from your pocket just far enough for him to get a glimpse of it and he swallowed, taking a step back.  He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but at the look in your eye, he turned on his heel and ran instead, the scuff of his footfalls echoing down the empty alley.

“Are you alright?  Did he hurt you?” you asked, turning to check on Dmitri, carefully looking him over for any injuries, concern squeezing your throat.

“No, I’m–I’m fine,” he replied quickly, wincing slightly and touching the back of his head.

“Are you sure?” you breathed, but he shook his head, gently pulling your hands away from his face.

“I just feel foolish…” he mumbled, his chin dropping in shame.  “I can’t believe I needed you to protect me, especially when all I wanted was to impress you.”

A small smile tugged at your lips.  “What makes you think I’m not impressed?” 

Dmitri’s brows furrowed in confusion, his gaze snapping back up to yours.  “You are?” 

You bit your lip to hide your grin.  “No one’s ever stood up for me like that,” you murmured, your pulse giving a jump at the way his blue eyes widened.

“You heard that?” he asked and you nodded, taking a step closer.

“Besides, I’ve been impressed ever since the first time I saw you sing,” you chuckled softly, smoothing your hands over the front of his jacket, waiting for him to make a move.

A dazed grin tugged at Dmitri’s lips and he leaned in, his eyes trailing your face, sharing your breath for a moment before finally kissing you.

Unbidden, a moan caught in your throat, and you kissed him back, slipping your arms up his shoulders, your fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck before he pulled you closer, his hands grasping your hips as his lips moved against yours hungrily, belying a strength you didn’t know he possessed.

When you finally parted to gasp a breath, your face flushed hotly, you brushed your nose against his, softly nipping at his bottom lip, drawing a low groan from him.

“You still want that drink?” he breathed and you let out a laugh.

“Thought you’d never ask,” you teased, wetting your lips.  “I know a good place.”

“Where are we going?” Dmitri asked as you stopped outside a dark apartment building and you reached for your keyring.

“My place…” you murmured, your eyes flicking up to his.  “Is that alright?”

Dmitri’s brows rose and he swallowed, nodding.  “Y-yeah.”

The front door unlocked with a click and you led him up several flights of stairs to your flat, your heart in your throat as you opened the door for him, inviting him in.

“I know it’s probably nowhere as nice as what you’re used to,” you chuckled ruefully, flipping the light switch near the door and shrugging off your jacket as Dmitri glanced around.

“That doesn’t bother me,” he murmured, taking off his jacket and tie and heading for the small makeshift bar in the corner.  “I’m a little worried for your safety here though,” he admitted, perusing the bottles of liquor before selecting a nearly empty bottle of pricey whiskey and pouring you each a glass, guessing it as your favourite.

You shrugged, kicking off your shoes and sinking to the sofa.  “I’m safe enough,” you said, waving his concern away.  “Safer now,” you teased gently as he rounded the couch to sit next to you, handing you your drink.

You murmured your thanks and sipped your whiskey, letting out a sigh as the smooth liquor burned down your throat, warming your insides and loosening your muscles.

“So why did you come out tonight?” you asked softly, turning in your seat to face him, leaning against the thread worn cushions.

Dmitri took a drink before answering.  “I wanted to finally talk to you,” he murmured, glancing at you over the lip of his glass.

“And what took you so long?” you asked, grinning as you watched him.

“I dunno,” he mumbled, setting his glass aside.  “I was afraid you’d turn me down,” he confessed, clearing his throat awkwardly.

Setting your empty glass next to his on the coffee table, you grinned as you leaned in, pressing your lips to his almost chastely, pulling back just as he attempted to deepen the kiss, his hand lingering at your hip.

“Why would you think that?” you breathed, kissing his jaw and down to his neck, your fingers playing with the top button of his shirt.  

“I don’t– I’m not–” his breath hitching as your teeth grazed his skin and his words melted to a soft moan.

“I like you, Dmitri,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his.  “Just as you are.”

He wet his lips.  “Call me Dima,” he murmured, pulling you into his lap.

“Dima–” you breathed, settling atop him as your lips met once more, his tongue finding yours eagerly as he wrapped you in his arms, and you felt him harden beneath you, pressing against your core.  With a gasp, you ground down against him, seeking that sweet friction against your aching cunt.

“Fuck–” he whined, bucking up against you in turn, your name falling from his mouth like a plea.

“You want more?” you whispered against his lips.

“Please–” he groaned, nodding desperately, pawing at your clothes.

“Have you ever done this before, Dima?” you asked, pulling back to slip your shirt over your head and unhook your bra, relishing the way he bit his lip as he watched you, his icy blue eyes darkening with want.

“Not many times, but–” 

You cut him off with a searing kiss, deftly unbuttoning his shirt—the thought of his inexperience pleasing you.

“Don’t worry about that,” you purred, helping him free his cock, a moan slipping from your lips as it sprung free, already weeping precum.

“I want you so bad,” he whimpered, swallowing thickly, and you grinned.

Slipping from his lap, you shimmied out of your pants before crawling back astride him, sliding his length between your folds to grind against him raw, covering him in your slick, the thick ridge of his head catching your throbbing clit and sending a shudder through you.

“I want you too, Dima,” you breathed, holding his gaze as you guided him to your entrance and slowly sank down his thick length, sheathing him fully.

“Oh God– you feel– like heaven.”

A moan caught in his chest as his long blonde lashes fluttered against his flushed cheeks and you smiled, leaning in to kiss him slowly as you rolled your hips, licking into his mouth teasingly.

“You’re so big, Dima.  You fill me so good–” you whispered in his ear, your tits pressing to his chest, dragging against his fevered skin with each movement.

It was as if your praise flipped something in him and his hands traveled your body almost greedily, coming to rest at your hips, guiding you as you began to ride him in earnest.

“F-fuck– please–”  His voice cracked as he cried your name and you gasped as he bucked up into you, tensing as he filled you suddenly, his cock twitching as he emptied himself inside you.

As soon as he came down from his high, panting heavily, he let out a groan, his eyes screwing shut in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry, I– Shit,” he breathed, afraid to open his eyes and see the disappointment that was sure to be on your face.

Instead, you stroked his cheek, pushing his disheveled hair from his brow before pressing your lips to it.

“That was hot,” you purred, tilting his face toward you as he slowly opened his eyes.  

“It was?” he asked, wincing.

“My pussy’s too good for you to hold back.  Of course it’s hot,” you chuckled, kissing his parted lips softly.

“But you didn’t finish.”  He frowned, his brows pinching adorably.

“There are other ways to make me come,” you drawled, wearing a smirk.

Dmitri chewed his lip.  “Get on your back,” he said, helping you off him and to the couch, laying you out and parting your legs, the hint of dominance in his voice sending a shiver through you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, stealing a kiss before moving down your body, leaving a trail of slow open mouthed kisses behind until he settled between your legs.  “So beautiful,” he echoed, wetting his lips as he breathed in your scent and kissed your inner thigh, teasing you a moment before pressing his lips to your core.

Twitching as he kissed you, a moan slipped from your lips and you threaded your fingers through his hair, mussing it up further and he let out a groan as your nails scratched at his scalp.  As he dragged his tongue between your folds, tasting you, your back arched and you heaved a sharp breath as he wrapped his lips around the hood of your clit, flicking it with his tongue before sucking.

“Oh God, Dima!”

Though he claimed inexperience, he sure knew how to use his mouth, or maybe he was just eager to please.  Either way, he soon had you writhing beneath him as he feasted on your cunt, moaning into your pussy as if he were enjoying it almost more than you.

“Cum for me, malishka,” he begged, slipping two fingers between your folds, curling them to search for your spongy g-spot as his tongue returned to your clit, tracing desperate circles against your sensitive nub.

The extra stimulation sent your head spinning and a wave of heat washed over you as your pleasure plateaued, a gasp ripping from your lips as you finally teetered over the edge, your muscles going rigid as your climax crashed over you like an avalanche.

Dmitri gave your clit one last kiss before lifting his face to admire your fucked out afterglow, wiping the mixture of your slick and his spend from his chin.  

“Jesus fuck, Dima.  That was amazing,” you panted, reaching for him weakly and he crawled toward you, slotting himself next to you as you melded to his side, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

He let out a soft chuckle, and pressed his swollen lips to your forehead, pride warming his chest at your praise, happy just to hold you close.

“Do you want to stay?” you asked quietly, running your fingers through the dark hair that covered his chest, warm and content.

“What does this mean?” he replied reluctantly, afraid to hope for more than one night.

“It means I want you to stay, idiot,” you huffed lightly.  “I’d like… to keep seeing you.”

A sigh left Dmitri’s lips, relief easing the tightness in his chest.  “I’d like to keep seeing you too,” he admitted.  “But… we’ll have to be careful.  We can’t let Papa know.  At least, not yet.”

You nodded.  “Sounds exciting,” you chuckled and Dmitri squeezed you tighter.

“You know, I really should thank my brother,” he murmured, his lips twitching in amusement.

“Why’s that?” you asked, peering up at him.

“He’s the one that encouraged me to make a move.”

“Oh,” you breathed, your grin growing.  “I suppose I should thank Sergei too then,” you laughed, turning Dmitri’s face toward you to steal a kiss.

“Mhmm,” he hummed, slipping his tongue against yours.  “But right now, I think I’m ready to try again.  Maybe this time I’ll last longer.”

A peal of delighted laughter left you as he rolled atop you once more.